


Soot and Snow

by WrongRemedy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick gets his wings, but they aren't what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soot and Snow

Whenever Patrick thought about it - and he'd only thought about it a few times, it's not like he had an obsession or something - he'd thought that his wings would be white.   
  
Pete's were white, and they were beautiful. They gave Pete a purity he would have lacked otherwise; they were a physical reminder to people that even though Pete could be a right asshole most of the time, he really was a good person.    
  
Patrick always assumed that when he turned 18 and his wings came in, his would match Pete's, and that would be that. So when he woke up in a motel bed the morning of his 18th birthday (with his face next to Joe's feet, because the motherfucker was weird and liked to sleep facing the wrong way) and looked over his shoulder to see the multitude of jet black feathers, Patrick was a little disappointed, and a lot surprised.   
  
All that day, he smiled, and thanked every single person who congratulated or complimented him on his new wings. It was nice that people were happy for him, and that they took the time to tell him, and in most circumstances, he would have meant every smile completely.    
  
That night, Pete pulled him aside after the show, before they all had to pile back in the van.   
  
"I know something's wrong, now tell me what it is."   
  
Patrick played dumb, because it was easier than telling the truth and  _sounding_  dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about. Everything's great. I'm legal, I'm winged, and we just had a great show. Everything is fan-fucking-tastic."   
  
Pete narrowed his eyes. "Good try. Anyone else would believe you. But not me, I know you too well." His voice softened, and he put a hand on Patrick's face, turning him so they were looking into each other's eyes. "Tell me what's wrong, Patrick."   
  
Patrick sighed, and his face heated up when he realized there were tears at the corners of his eyes.   
  
"I just. My wings are black. They're  _black_ , Pete."   
  
Pete looked surprised, and looked over Patrick's shoulder at them, as if he hadn't actually noticed that before.   
  
"Yes. Yes they are. Is that a problem for you?"   
  
Patrick sighed again, and his voice was nearly a whisper of embarrassment when he said, "Yours are white. I wanted us to match."   
  
Pete was quiet for a few seconds, and Patrick squirmed in the silence. Finally, Pete said, "I think it's just the world's most really fucking accurate metaphor."   
  
"Excuse me?" Patrick said, because even though he understood Pete more than most people, it didn't mean he understood him all the time.   
  
Pete's eyes lit up, and he waved his hands around as he talked, almost hitting Patrick in the face a few times.   
  
"Yeah, yeah. Like, okay, think about it. You and me, we  _don't_  match, really. I mean, we do, don't get all sad on me here, we do, but. But we don't. It's more like, like we complete each other, you know what I mean? Like, two halves of a whole, opposites attract, yin and yang, can't have one without the other sort of thing. And maybe your wings being black while mine are white, maybe it's symbolic of that. And  _that_  Patrick Stump, is poetic and beautiful and awesome, and you should love it, because, because."   
  
Pete stopped flailing his hands and moved back towards Patrick, straight into his personal space and then some. He was looking Patrick in the eyes again, but this time, it seemed different.   
  
"Because I love you," he said, and then his lips were against Patrick's, and Patrick didn't even think to make it stop.   
  
Years later, when Mikey became Pete's bff, and Pete told him the story of their first kiss, Mikey passed it on to his brother, and Gerard drew them a picture to hang in their bunk. It was them, a few years younger and more innocent, hands clasped in each others, lips just a breath apart, the tips of their wings touching around them. It was done only in shading, Patrick's wings pitch black and Pete's white as the paper, and it was every metaphor Pete had ever written for Patrick to sing.


End file.
